


The Dead Days

by Maniac_Elle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Blood and Gore, Bonding, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Sorry!, Survival, Survival Horror, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maniac_Elle/pseuds/Maniac_Elle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dead have risen and society has crumbled. There are survivors but their number is few and more will fall. There is little talk of hope.</p>
<p>(More characters to come.  Also not as dark as the tags suggest but I've added them as more of a warning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thread One: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur contemplates his place in the apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zombie Apocalypse AU loosely based on The Walking Dead TV series. Story follows the many characters of Hetalia as they navigate the dead and each other. There will be various levels of angst, violence and gore and, while I hate myself for it, character deaths (it is loosely based on TWD after all). The main points of view are Arthur, Alfred, Francis, Antonio, Lovino, Feliciano, Gilbert, Matthew, Kiku and Ludwig though many other characters will be included.
> 
> There will be romantic pairings but the depth of the relationships will vary depending on the couple and what happens to the characters. Couples I like and may be included are: FrUK, USUK, GerIta, Spamano, PruCan, SuFin, LietPol, SwissLiech, AusHun, Ameripan, DenNor, HongIce, EngPort, TurGre, RoChu, RoBul.
> 
> **Warning:** Chapter has suicidal themes.

**The Dead Days **

 Thread One: Part One  
Arthur

 

Arthur Kirkland sat beside the window, forehead pressed against the cold glass and his injured leg propped up on the opposite chair. His stomach growled, sounding horrifically loud in the silent room but Arthur no longer winced at the volume. A gun weighed heavy in his right hand.

Outside the dead wandered aimlessly under a cloudless blue sky.

There was no grace to the abominations stumbling down the street, no direction, no thought. They moved one foot in front of the other, travelling always onwards until prey flitted across their path or the scent of blood filled their nostrils.

He rubbed fingers against the blood crusted on his jeans. Arthur had worried that they would sniff him out in the pharmacy and come clambering through the windows but so far he had escaped their attention unnoticed, instead leaving him free to spy on them. Initially he thought the chance of observation might lead to discoveries on their nature or process but he learnt nothing more than his previous knowledge; the undead were mindless droves with a never-ending craving for human flesh.

He didn't know whether that made him feel better or worse. He didn't know if he cared either way.

Arthur's thumb ran up and down the ridged grip of the gun. He'd never held one until the apocalypse, never even seen one before that. He hadn't realised it would be so heavy. Or so loud.

That's what had surprised him the most the first time he'd pulled the trigger. Not the hole it had put through that girl's face or the sight of her crumbling wordlessly to the ground, no it was the sharp bang, loud enough to hurt his ears and let the gun fall from trembling fingers to clatter against the pavement. Loud enough to stun him for a moment, a moment in which one of those dead things tore into his brother's neck.

That had been two days ago, back when the Kirkland siblings fought tooth and nail to escape the city, and failed. Arthur couldn't say he was surprised; they'd always been much better at fighting each other than teaming up. Really, they were doomed from the start.

Still though, he hoped against hope that they were alive and safe and together, especially Peter. His siblings were strong and determined but as much as Peter puffed his chest and wore an air of bravado, he was still a child. A child lost in a new, cruel world.

Arthur's stomach grumbled again. He took a tiny sip from his half empty bottle of water but it did nothing to quench the gnawing hunger that had grown painful. He remembered reading somewhere that a human could live without food for up to three weeks, but Arthur had no wish to find out if that was true. Of course the wound in his leg could catch an infection and kill him off before that, assuming one of the dead didn't find him first.

Such choice: starvation, infection or cannibalism.

Or there was a fourth option.

He had five bullets in the gun and he only needed one.

Arthur glanced down at the weapon. It would be the preferable option – instant and painless. There's wouldn't be weeks of agony as his body shut down and devoured itself or the struggle against those things as they attacked and tore him to pieces. All it took was one pull of the trigger and it would be over. No more struggling or useless worrying over things he had no control over. Just a simple ending.

Or so the logical side of himself said. The romantic side that only revealed itself in Arthur's writing spoke of hope and family and future. Because what if, right now, his brothers and sister were waiting for him, or that a cure had been discovered, or that soldiers were on their way to rescue him? What if he could find food or an escape? What if, this time next week, it would all be over and remembered only as a terrible time in history akin to the Black Death?

What if, what if, what if...

Who was he kidding? Before the world had descended into silence Arthur had read about the dead ravaging schools and hospitals in the papers, watched as neighbours turned on each other on the telly and listened to first-hand accounts of traumatised survivors on the radio.

Overnight – it seemed – the world had fallen to hell and Arthur was crawling through the cold ashes.

Arthur barked a laugh. Here he was, painfully hungry, his leg torn with a horde of the undead on the other side of the window and he wanted a pen to note his end of the world romanticisms. How bloody typical of himse-

A scuff of rubber against linoleum ripped Arthur from his thoughts. His body tensed as his right hand gripped tight hold of the gun. Holding his breath, he strained his ears for any sound in the pharmacy.

For a long few seconds there was nothing, and then footsteps.

Arthur inhaled and glanced at the gun, at the window and at the end of the counter. Panicked thoughts sped through his head but his body remained frozen in place. His injured leg would slow him down and moving it might tear the wound and fresh blood would draw the thing in. Staying would be pointless because any moment it would come around the corner and find him. The gun would kill it but attract the dead outside, as would escaping through the window. He had no knife or means of killing the thing silently. There were no places to hide.

And then all too soon it came into view. The man, wearing what was once a nice suit, locked Arthur in its sights and lurched forward with renewed vigour.

Arthur lifted the gun and aimed for the head.

Five bullets. One for the dead thing in front of him. He still had four left to make an escape and find a new hideout. After all he had got this far by himself with the wound in his leg and no food, he could do it again.

He could still survive. He still had a chance.

Arthur held the dead man in his sights. Then he turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's tons of zombie stories for Hetalia and whilst mine is probably nothing new I wanted to write something darker and more serious than the two fics I currently have up. I hope you guys liked this short opening even if the ending was not so happy.
> 
> Also, the setting is a semi-fictional America where (due to my lack of American knowledge) states will not be named, places will be made up (or based on TWD) and English terms will most likely be used (being English and all). Finally I doubt any explanation will be given as to why all the characters are different nationalities unless it fits into the plot.
> 
> I think that makes sense but if not feel free to ask any questions. You should also feel free to leave a review if the mood strikes you :)


	2. Thread Two: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers Ludwig, Gilbert and their father Alaric meet another family of survivors.

Thread Two: Part One    
Ludwig

 

"Mein Gott, can't we just go already?" Gilbert asked as he leant forward from the backseat of the car.

"Quiet," Ludwig Beilschmidt mumbled, catching their father give Gilbert an annoyed look out of the corner of his eye.

Gilbert fell back with a huff. "There's no one there, dead, alive, zombie or otherwise."

"Are you willing to bet your life on that?" their father asked as he narrowed his eyes at Gilbert in the mirror.

"After waiting this long? Ja, ja I am."

"Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not there," Ludwig said hoping to diffuse the tension in the car. His brother and father butted heads enough before the dead came back to life but now that they were stuck together nearly every minute of the day the friction was nearing outright aggressive.

"And how long should we wait?"

Ludwig glanced at their father. His hands clenched the wheel until his knuckles were white, his mouth set in a taut grimace. "Till I say so," he said.

Ludwig knew the answer would only infuriate Gilbert further so he turned in his seat and gave his brother a look.

Gilbert inhaled and exhaled audibly but kept his mouth shut.

"You need to learn patience," their father said and Ludwig wished he hadn't.

Gilbert leant forward and glared at the back of their father's head. "Ja of course. The world's fucking ended and zombies are on the loose and I need to sit back and learn some patience."

Ludwig ran a hand through his hair. "Just a few more minutes, Bruder."

Gilbert continued to scowl but held his tongue. They sat in the car, scouring the area for bodies, dead or living. Unlike their previous crazed stop, this petrol station was on the outskirts of the town and free from dozens of dead snapping at their heels and the living threatening them with bullets. They'd barely escaped with their life and limbs then and their father was determined not to let them end up in the same position again. Now they waited and checked for armed looters and the salivating dead before making a move.

So far it had just been one thin man missing an ear but he had wandered off and left the area clear. Of course that didn't mean there weren't more in the shop or around the back but there was only so much they could see from the confines of a car.

After another minute, their father turned on the engine and inched into the petrol station. They came to a stop and the three of them got out of the car, Gilbert muttering, "Finally," under his breath. Ludwig held his pistol in both hands and was comforted by the second in the holster and a survival knife taken from one of the looters at his hip.

As discussed, their father went about to the petrol pump whilst Ludwig and his brother slipped into the shop. When the door closed behind them, Ludwig and Gilbert paused, ears straining for the faintest sound that might indicate one of the dead hidden in an aisle or looters residing in the back. With nothing forthcoming, Gilbert crept forward, peering around the corner of each aisle before continuing onwards when it was empty. Ludwig followed, body tense and mouth dry. Each clack of their shoes on the linoleum boomed like a bullet in the deafening silence of the shop, each breath like a roar, each heartbeat like a drum.

Memories of their last visit to a supermarket flew through his head; looters shooting into a panicked crowd, strangers using one another as shields, the living trampled underfoot, lost children crying for help and then the dead smashing the windows and devouring the injured who couldn't flee fast enough.

Ludwig had watched with fascinated horror, unable to believe the chaos in front of him. The previous week he had been walking his dogs in the park and then a few days later he was witness to the dead returning to life as hungry monsters, his town falling to shambles as neighbours turned on each other. It had all happened so fast, too fast for Ludwig to properly comprehend how and why this was happening. Instead he had been swept up in the crowd and the fear and only his father's military experience and his brother's quick thinking had got them out of that shop, that town alive.

It took them less than a minute to sweep the shop but it felt much longer. The shop was empty, as was the cluttered backroom with a rotting half eaten bagel and cold cup of coffee on the desk revealing the owner having fled days ago. Wherever he'd gone, Ludwig guessed the owner would not be returning.

Gilbert relaxed his stance and wandered towards the fridge at the back of the shop, Ludwig trailing after him.

"Alright," Gilbert said with a cackle as he opened the door and pulled out a box of twelve beers.

Ludwig opened his mouth to tell Gilbert to focus on necessary items but stopped himself. Keeping with the German stereotype, the Beilschmidt's had a fondness for beer and while it might not have essential for survival it didn't mean they couldn't enjoy a drink every now and then.

The two of them set about filling the bags with bottles of water, food and other basic items like matches, first aid materials and personal hygiene supplies.

They were nearly done when the sound of a door opening came from the backroom.

Gilbert and Ludwig shared a look, both dropping the bags and finding their guns. Ludwig resisted the urge to swear, unable to believe that neither he nor his brother had thought to check whether the backdoor was locked. Perhaps the owner hadn't perished after all.

A glance towards the windows showed their father filling empty cans with petrol, unaware of their new company.

Ludwig listened to muffled voices before the door between the backroom and the shop opened and noisy whispering filled the silence.

Gilbert ducked and crawled towards the left end of the aisle and Ludwig moved to the right.

"Look, look," said an excited voice in an Italian accent. "It's not empty. There's tins and sweets and drinks, and wow, even pasta!"

"Keep quiet," said a second, grumpier Italian.

"But I could boil the water and make us a proper dinner," said the first person. "Wouldn't that be nice for a change?"

"That sounds delicious," said a third, cheerful voice. "And we can have a bottle of wine or two with it."

"Can we have dessert too?" a fourth person chimed in; another Italian but with a younger voice.

"Keep it down," said the second person. "There might be one of them in here."

"You don't have to worry all the time, Lovi," said the third man. "If they were here they would be attacking us already. Why don't you take a break and relax?"

Ludwig glanced down the aisle to his crouching brother. They exchanged incredulous looks. How had these people managed to last this long? They were loud, careless and unobservant in their surroundings; they shouldn't have lasted a day.

Gilbert peered around the aisle and Ludwig did the same.

Humming in front of the pasta stood a young man with auburn hair and a curl flicking to the left. He was a maybe a little below average height with a slight build and Ludwig guessed he was quick at dodging the dead since he seemed to lack the muscles to fight his way through them. Ludwig eyes widened in shocked horror as the man carelessly dropped his gun on the shelf behind him so he could compare two bags of pasta.

How the hell was this guy not dead? It had to be pure luck because there couldn't be any other explanation for it.

Ludwig rose to peer over the top shelf. The other three were two aisles away. They all shared similar hair and features so he guessed they were related, probably the two twenty year olds and the teenager being brothers with the older man as their father or uncle. Both adults were distracted although they, excepting the unarmed teenager, at least had the sense to keep their weapons within reach.

Gilbert covered his mouth but a snort broke through.

Immediately the two men and teenager in the far aisle turned their way, raising guns as they did. Ludwig pointed his own over the shelf and Gilbert did the same.

"Feli, get over here," the elder brother said.

Ludwig trained his gun on Feli, whose eyes widened and the pasta fell from his grip. "Stay where you are," Ludwig said.

"Don't you dare point that at my brother, you bastard," growled the darker haired Italian.

"Then lower the gun pointing at my Bruder," Ludwig said, hoping that Gilbert wouldn't start mouthing off and both families could leave without casualties.

"No fucking chance."

Gilbert grinned. "Then I suggest you start backing the fuck out of here before we start shooting."

Feli made a noise and his eyes clouded with fear.

"Come on now," said the oldest of the three, "there's no need for threats or violence. We're only after some food and then we'll be on our way."

"We were here first," Gilbert said.

"So what?" asked the teenager.

"So everything here is ours and you need to find somewhere else."

"But there is no place else." Feli said, his voice and expression forlorn. "We're starving and this is the first safe place we've been to in days. Why can't we share?"

"Because we were here first."

"Ah, come on now," the elder of the four said with a sincere smile that Ludwig hadn't seen since dead came back to life. "There's more than enough for everyone here. But since you got here before us you can have first pick."

"Of course we will-" Gilbert began when the front door opened.

The six of them spun towards the entrance. Ludwig relaxed when he saw it was only his father.

"What's going on?" he asked as he eyed the four strangers, the rifle ready in his hands.

"Relax, relax," the elder said and held up in hands as a sign of surrender. "We're all here looking for food and there's more than enough to go around. Why don't you let us get what we need and then we'll be on our way."

Their father took the four of them in before nodding. "Fine," he said before adding a, "Hurry up," to Ludwig and Gilbert.

Ludwig lowered his weapon and went back to filling his bag with their father standing guard over them. "So where are you three from?" the eldest man asked their father in a tone that suggested they had met under friendly circumstances rather than during a tense confrontation in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.

There was silence and Ludwig suspected that his father was frowning at the man who seemed oblivious to the hostility.

As Ludwig packed tins into his bag, he became aware of eyes following him. He paused and looked up from his crouched position to catch Feli watching him. The moment their gaze connected, Feli backed away.

Ludwig straightened up and found himself towering over the Italian. He couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the guy. Struggling in this apocalypse was hard enough for himself but for a small, nervous guy like this it must have been hell.

Ludwig picked Feli's forgotten revolver off the counter. Feli twitched and looked as though debating whether to flee. "Here," Ludwig said and handed it to the Italian. Feli stared at it for a few seconds before slowly reaching for it with trembling fingers. "Keep it on you at all times," Ludwig said. "You never know when you'll need it."

Feli eyed the gun in his hand as if unsure what it was. Then he lifted his gaze revealing warm, amber eyes. "Grazie," he said with a soft smile that lit up his face.

Ludwig felt his cheeks heat up, unsure what to do with the revered look he was receiving.

"Feli," the brother shouted. "Stay away from that bastard."

"I'm fine, Lovi," Feli said with a brief wave before he turned back to Ludwig. "I'm Feliciano Vargas and that's my older fratello Lovino, my younger fratello Marcello and my papá Julius."

"Er..." Ludwig began as he tried to comprehend why someone who two minutes ago was on the wrong end of a gun was now freely introducing himself to the one holding said gun. He wondered if maybe Feliciano was shell shocked or trying to hold on to social normality in an attempt to keep his grip on this vastly changed world. Or maybe it was an Italian thing.

Feliciano tilted his head, wearing a questioning look.

Ludwig coughed and held out his hand. "Ludwig Beilschmidt. That's my Bruder Gilbert, and my Vater Alaric."

Feliciano shook his hand enthusiastically. "You're with your family too? That's great. I don't know where I'd be without mine."

The handshake stilled but Feliciano hadn't let go. The smile drifted lower on his face to be replaced with the lost look Ludwig had seen on so many people since everything went to hell.

"Feli!" Lovino shouted again as he marched over. "Don't talk to them."

"But Ludwig's nice."

"You think everyone's nice," Lovino said and tugged Feliciano's hand free from Ludwig's. "And you shouldn't be on a first name basis with these bastards."

"But Ludwig is nice, he gave me my gun back."

"I don't care if he gave you a grenade, you need to stay away from him."

"Let him be, Lovi, it's good to make friends, especially in this climate," Julius said as he filled a box with nothing but bottles of red wine.

"We're not making friends," Ludwig's father said with an affronted expression on his face.

Julius grinned. "Ah but we should. It's the end of the world and the dead are coming to life to snack on the living. When has there been a better time to form an alliance?"

"Yeah!" Feliciano said. "Why don't you stay and I'll make us all a delizioso pasta dish."

"And dessert," Marcello added.

"We're not staying," their father said.

"Why not?" Gilbert asked, likely having perked up at the mention of a hot meal that wasn't baked beans.

"Because we need to get on the road and away from here before more people turn up."

"Then why don't you come with us?" Feliciano asked.

"There's no room in our car," their father said, his tone annoyed.

"Not to worry," Julius said. "We have our own. You can follow behind us."

"I don't think so."

"Why not?" Gilbert asked. "What's the harm in one meal?"

"How do we know they're not going to kill us and steal our belongings when we turn our back."

"Are you kidding me? Look at them."

Lovino glared at Gilbert. "What's that supposed to mean, bastard?"

"Perhaps we should get going," Ludwig said before guns were raised once more.

Feliciano grabbed his arm. "What? Why?"

Ludwig peered down at him and wished he hadn't. Feliciano's eyes watered and he seemed perilously close to tears. He glanced around but found no help in dealing with an emotional Italian.

A meal wouldn't hurt, plus it had been just the three of them for so long that they were starved for fresh social interactions. "I suppose it might be healthy to take a break from only our own company for once," Ludwig said with a shrug. "One meal, Vater?"

Their father's gaze flickered from the Vargas family to his scowling son. "One meal."

"With dessert," Marcello said adamantly.

Feliciano laughed and threw his arms around an uncomfortable Ludwig. He hoped he wouldn't come to regret the decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Alaric = Germania; Julius = Rome; Marcello = Seborga
> 
> **A/N:** So a slightly different tone for this chapter than the first but I didn't want to make it doom and gloom all the time. Also I had to keep toning down Feliciano's cheerful attitude since, you know, zombie apocalypse and all that. Marcello was a last minute edition that I wrote in after I had finished this (which is why he doesn't have many lines) but I wanted to add in loads of characters and it made sense to make him a Vargas (and I don't know much about Seborga's character other than he seems cheerful and likes to flirt so sorry if he seems OC).
> 
> Thanks to twoscarypandas for commenting and to everyone who hit kudos - you guys are the best!


	3. Thread Three: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred meets an infected person for the first time and has a decision to make.

Thread Three: Part One   
Alfred

 

Officer Jones stood at the barrier, occasionally wandering up and down his territory when he needed to stretch his legs. It wasn't the kind of assignment that he'd dreamed about when he'd first joined the Sheriff's Department, but, then again, a lot had changed since then and now.

A week ago reports of the virus that reanimated the dead and spread through bite began appearing in the news. First it was a hoax, then an isolated incident, then an epidemic. Cities fell, the airwaves and TV turned static and the army took over his hometown.

The military had beaten the virus to King County, arriving only two days ago. After failing to secure the cities they had fallen to the towns in an attempt to establish a secure base and retain hold of an ailing society. It was probably the only thing saving the town.

Many of the soldiers had experienced the outbreak first hand and they were quick to rush through King County, examining everyone for infection, enforcing a curfew and building barriers around the town to keep out the undead. They had rationed the food, water and medical supplies, evacuated those on the outskirts to secure homes in town and policed the panicking locals. They had taken over the Sheriff's Department and relegated the officers to jobs below their pay grade, which had earned grumblings from Alfred's superiors. Whilst Alfred didn't begrudge them himself, patrolling the borders was a little lonely and he sorely missed the company of his fellow officers, particularly his cousin Matthew.

Alfred stretched his back and tilted his head to look out over the empty fields. He badly wanted to retrieve his Nintendo DS from his car or play on his phone but his work ethic and fastidious need to follow duty overrode his boredom.

Instead he choose to peer into the distance through the scope on his rifle and muse over the fact that his favourite video games had become a reality, though he had yet to blow a zombie's brains out much less even meet one.

He'd hoped one might stumble through the fields but the most exciting thing to come his way was a lone cow that alternated between chewing on grass and dawdling towards the opposite woods.

At quarter past the hour, Alfred radioed in to the station to report the familiar 'all clear'. He wondered if Matthew or another officer had managed to spot a zombie, though he kind of hoped he would be the first.

The horror of the last week – when the news was twenty-four-seven zombie updates – had faded with the media blackout and the lack of actual zombies. In fact, if it wasn't for the sense of isolation from the rest of the world and the soldiers stationed in town, Alfred wouldn't have believed it. He almost still didn't believe it, especially when the soldiers threw words like 'apocalypse' and 'extermination' around and Alfred was still visiting his favourite diner and chowing down on the homemade pecan pie.

He supposed things would blow over soon. The scientists would find a cure, the government would re-establish order and the army would eliminate the zombies. America would be saved and King County would go on as it ever had, along with Alfred's unexciting existence.

 

#

A little before five, Matthew's car pulled up beside Alfred's pickup truck. "Afternoon," Matthew shouted with a nod. "Spotted anything?"

"I wish. Brought the pizza?"

"Yeah I brought it," Matthew said with an exasperated shake of his head.

"Awesome."

Matthew smiled as Alfred climbed down for his perch and joined him. They sat on the hood of Alfred's truck and shared the large pepperoni and sodas. Shame it was frozen and not a Romano's.

"How's everything in town?" Alfred asked in between bites.

Matthew shrugged. "The same. Everyone's tense and the armed soldiers wandering the streets aren't helping."

"They're keeping everyone safe."

"They're making everyone nervous. It's one thing having them protect our town but it's another thing but them to treat us like we're the enemy."

"What are you talking about?"

Matthew gave Alfred one of his looks that suggested he couldn't believe how dumb Alfred was. Alfred hated those looks.

"Come on, Al, you can't be that oblivious."

"Oblivious to what?"

"Oblivious to the 'us' and 'them' vibe that everyone but apparently you has picked up on."

"Us and them?"

Matthew sipped his drink. "The soldiers keep to themselves and don't socialise with the locals, not even the people in our department. They've basically roped off the hospital and are treating everyone inside as criminals, personally vetting anyone who wants to enter or leave regardless of injury. They've closed all the bars but are keeping the alcohol to themselves, they're getting first dibs on the food, they're withholding medicine, the male soldiers are forcing women and girls to strip for inspections, they're-"

"Ok, ok, I get it," Alfred said and dropped his half eaten slice of pizza back into the box. It tasted like cardboard.

"Do you really? Because you're treating them like our saviours."

"I'm not saying they're perfect but we'd be screwed without them."

Matthew frowned thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess. I just wish they'd go about it a different way."

"Ah well," Alfred said as he drained the last of his soda. "It'll probably be over in a few weeks anyway."

Matthew gave him another look.

"What?"

"Did you even watch the news?"

"Yeah of course, but it can't be that bad if we still haven't had a zombie in these parts. I mean, I realise we're not Atlanta or Macon but if they haven't hit us at all then they can't be that widespread."

Matthew frowned at the word 'zombie' but didn't mention it. "I think if the military couldn't save the city and had to fall back here then we're in a lot more trouble than you realise."

"Either way, I still want to blow a zombie's brains out."

"Spoken like the immature teenager you are."

"We're the same age!"

"But I act like a cop not a college frat boy."

Alfred stuck his tongue out.

"Way to prove my point."

 

#

He'd been driving down empty roads for ten minutes, singing – off key as Matthew often enjoyed reminding him – when a figure stumbled in his path.

Alfred cursed. He yanked the steering wheel to the right and hit the brakes. His truck screeched to a stop.

A body lay in the middle of the road, illuminated in the headlights.

Alfred threw open the door and ran towards the unmoving woman. "Ma'am," he called as he dropped down beside her. "Ma'am are you injured? Can you hear me?"

He reached forward and felt for a pulse. Her shoulder was wet. Alfred pulled back his hand and held it in the light. It dripped with blood.

The woman groaned.

Alfred fell backwards and fumbled for his gun. "Ma'am?" he asked, voice shaky.

The woman moved a bloodied arm.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Alfred raised his glock and aimed at the woman's head.

Was she an actual... was she really dead? How had one of them made it through the patrolled barriers?

All the imagined thrill of pointing a gun at one of... those fled from Alfred. Instead his hands trembled and he badly wanted to retreat to the safety of his car, radio the soldiers and have them deal with... it.

A groan sounded from the woman and she shifted on the ground.

Alfred stumbled to his feet and stepped backwards. "Ma'am, please will you..." Alfred trailed off, unsure what exactly he wanted to ask the woman. "Can you hear me?" he asked instead. "Can you understand me?"

The woman rolled onto her side and lifted her head. Long brown bangs hid her face. Blood trailed across the left side of her shoulder and chest. Beneath the red liquid, he saw the bite.

"Xin," the woman said, her voice hoarse. "Bạn giúp tôi đựơc không?"

Alfred remained frozen in place, his heart beating loudly in his ears.

The woman stretched an arm out towards him. Alfred flinched.

"Tôi... I'm hurt. I need..." Her voice cracked and tears rolled down her cheeks.

His chest tightened and his hands holding the gun wavered. The woman was injured. She was in pain, not just from the bite but from Alfred hitting her with his car. He wanted so much to follow his natural response, to call an ambulance or carry the woman into his car and haul ass to the hospital. He wanted to save her, not kill her.

His hands trembled. "I... I can't let you go. I'm supposed to... to stop you." The number one rule the soldiers had imposed on the Sheriff's Department was to shoot an infected person on sight. No questions, no pause, just point and shoot.

Alfred understood their reasoning but it seemed inhumane to kill someone like a rabid dog.

"I don't want to die," the woman said, her words almost lost in gasping sobs. "I'm so scared and I don't know what to do."

"But you'll turn into one of those things," Alfred's muttered, somehow hoping his soft tone would lessen the truth in his words.

"They might find a cure. They might already be a cure. I can still be saved, there's still a chance."

Alfred said nothing.

"What if you kill me now and tomorrow the government brings the cure to King County?" she asked, a little hysterically. "Can you live knowing you murdered an innocent woman?"

"I-"

"You're supposed to protect the innocents, not murder them!"

Alfred winced.

"Would you kill your mother? What about your girlfriend or best friend? Could you kill them like this? Like they're an animal?" The woman coughed and tears slid from golden eyes. "Could you put a bullet through their head and carry their blood on your hands."

The gun lowered. With a mixture of relief and fear, Alfred made a decision. "I'll take you to the Sheriff's Department and I'll make a case for yo-"

"No," the woman said with a shake of her head. "If you take me back there they'll kill me."

"I'll ask that you be locked in a cell until a cure arrives or you..."

"And you think they'll listen to you? They're the ones that gave the order for you to shoot me in the first place."

"I can't let you go."

"Do you think handing me over to your boss so they can be the ones to kill me will make you any less guilty?"

"No but if I let you go and you become one of... them and kill someone, then that will be on me."

The woman shakily stood up and Alfred's hands both went to his glock. She didn't move towards him but smoothed out her stained green dress. "Take me to the border and get me out of here. I'll leave and no one will be at risk and I'll be alive."

"The barrier is patrolled."

"You're a deputy, I know you work on patrol. You can get me out without anyone else knowing."

"I'm off duty. Someone else has taken over."

"Then sneak me out or wait till tomorrow."

Alfred wiped sweaty palms on his pants. "What's your name?" he asked as he thought her words over.

"Lien Chung."

"I... I'm really sorry, Miss Chung, but I can't help you escape."

Lien glared at him. "Then I'll get out myself."

Alfred raised his gun. "I'll take you to the station and make a case for you. It's all I can do."

"All you can do?"

"I've already broken the number one rule by letting you live."

"Why let me live when you're going to take me to men who will kill me? Why don't you just shoot me now?" She strode towards him and pushed his chest. "Go on, shoot me. Shoot me you coward!"

Reacting on instinct, Alfred flipped the woman round onto the bonnet of his truck and snapped a handcuff on her. She screamed and kicked and cursed him in Vietnamese but Alfred managed to get her in his car where he cuffed her to the door handle. The moment the lock clicked Lien gave up struggling and broke down into tears.

Alfred turned off the music and began the drive to the station.

 

#

After nearly ten minutes of silence, Alfred finally asked the question that he'd been wanting to ask since they'd met.

"What happened?"

Lien turned to him, her expression cold.

He didn't think she'd answer so he jumped when she spoke.

"My father is- was ill. He died at home this afternoon. I was downstairs when I heard my mother screaming and when I ran upstairs he was..." Lien shook her head. "I pulled him off her and he went for me instead and bit my shoulder. Then my mother managed to get me away but he was clawing and biting and I couldn't save her. When I left, she was dead and he was eating her."

Fresh tears rolled down her face but she stared out the window with a blank expression. "I don't know how he got infected."

A cold shiver ran up Alfred's spine.

The rest of the journey continued in silence. After another ten minutes they arrived at the station.

Alfred turned off the engine and turned to Lien. "I won't be long," he said but she didn't look his way. He got out of the car but before he closed the door he added, "I'll do everything I can for you."

Lien remained mute.

Alfred closed the door and inhaled a deep breath before he strode into the station. He passed unfamiliar soldiers until he found his way to the Sheriff's former office. A short man with blond shoulder length blond hair blocked his path.

"What do you want?" he asked in an accent that might have been German.

"I have something important I need to tell Major Machado."

"And what would that be?"

Alfred hesitated but decided that telling this soldier would get him into seeing Machado quickly. "It's about an infected civilian."

The soldier's eyes widened and he banged on the door.

"Come in."

The soldier opened the door and crossed the room to what had been the Sheriff's desk. Back when the military had rolled into town, Alfred had expected the Major to be an overly muscled white dude with a greying buzz cut, not a thirty something year old Cuban with dreadlocks and a laugh that boomed through the building. The only thing he had in common with Alfred's movie infused version of a Major was the cigars he liked to chew on.

The soldier mumbled something and Machado looked up at Alfred. "You found an infected civilian?" he asked, jumping up from his desk and closing the door behind Alfred.

"Yes sir. I, er, I hit her with my car."

"Tell me everything that happened," Machado demanded. He and the blond soldier stood either side of Alfred, their close proximity and intense stares making him want to back out of the room.

Instead he focused on quickly retelling his meeting with Lien, putting emphasis on her name and the physical and emotional pain she'd suffered. He wanted them to see a young woman, not one of those things.

He'd barely finished his story when Machado grabbed his collar and dragged him so close their noses were almost touching. "You left her in your car?" he growled.

"I..." Alfred faltered, unsure of where he was going with the sentence. He wanted to speak of a cure or expound on the value of a human life but he knew his words would be scoffed at. "I promised I'd help her," he finished lamely.

Machado glared at Alfred before pushing him roughly away. He turned to the other soldier. "Bring her here and do it quietly, Zwingli. I don't need a riot on my hands."

Zwingli nodded and was gone in the blink of an eye.

A vein pulsed in Machado's forehead. Alfred turned his gaze to the floor. Even though he hated admitting it, even if only to himself, Machado intimidated him. It wasn't the inch or two Machado stood over him or his bulkier frame, it was the badge on his uniform. Alfred had been raised to respect his elders and listen to his superiors, to say 'yes sir' and 'right away ma'am' without question; to disobey a direct order from the Major churned his stomach.

Machado turned to his desk and pulled a cigar out of the drawer. He held it to his lips, paused, then put it back way.

Alfred watched without a word, his body taut and stationed in place.

"What did you say your name was?" Machado asked, his voice a growl.

"J-Jones, Alfred Jones."

"Maldito idiota americano."

Though he didn't speak Spanish, Alfred could guess the gist of Machado's words.

Without a knock, the door opened the Zwingli returned with Lien. Her eyes were dilated, her hands shaking. Alfred stepped towards her, forcing a smile on his face to help relax her. She looked away.

The door closed and Machado pounced, asking question after question, some that Alfred had already giving answers to. As it went on Machado's tone turned more accusatory, his questions more demanding as Lien answered with terse words and unveiled malice. It wasn't an interview with a victim but an interrogation with a suspect.

For all his questions though, Lien revealed nothing more than she had told Alfred.

A long pause ended the conversation.

"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?" Lien asked, her voice breaking on the word 'kill'.

Machado and Zwingli shared a look. Alfred knew exactly what it meant.

"We should put her in a cell," Alfred blurted out.

Machado glared at him.

Alfred glanced back to the floor but carried on speaking, fulfilling his promise to help Lien. "If we keep her in a cell she won't be able to harm anyone and we can keep an eye on her." Alfred spoke quickly but was unable to keep the tremors out of his voice. "And if... if there's a cure then we can... save her," he finished lamely.

Machado and Zwingli both wore frowns.

"Please don't kill me," Lien whispered, all anger lost. "Put me in a cell and keep me as subject to study just please don't kill me."

Zwingli leaned towards Machado and muttered something in his ear that Alfred couldn't hear.

Machado scratched his chin before wandering over to his desk and lighting up a cigar. He breathed out a cloud of smoke. "Do it."

"Do what?" Lien asked.

"This way," Zwingli said.

Lien glanced between the three of them and shook her head. Quick Vietnamese flew from her mouth as her hands curled into fists. "No, no, no!" Lien screamed and dove at Alfred, her teeth glinting white.

Alfred tumbled backwards as a gunshot exploded through the room.

Lien toppled on top of him. Warm blood pooled from her head and soaked through his shirt and pants. Alfred inhaled sharply.

The door burst open and suddenly the room was filled with soldiers pointing their guns and screaming at Alfred. Their voices were almost deafening and all he could do was sit and blink and feel the weight of Lien grow heavier on his chest.

Machado grabbed Lien and roughly rolled her over before snatching Alfred's collar and tugging him to his feet. "Strip," he ordered.

"What?" Alfred asked dumbly.

"You strip right now or Zwingli will put a bullet in your brain too."

"I-"

Zwingli darted forwards and the muzzle of his rifle brushed against Alfred's forehead.

The shouts of the soldiers fell to a claustrophobic silence as Alfred fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He peeled the wet fabric off and followed with his pants until he stood in only his boxers.

"Everything," Machado said. "I need to see that she didn't infect you."

Alfred managed to blush despite the confusion and fear coursing through his bones. "She didn't bite my ass," he blurted out.

Machado flicked the ash of his cigar into a cup. "Shut up and take it off."

Alfred hesitated but one look at Zwingli's blank face and the soldiers with their fingers poised over triggers and he tugged his boxers to his ankles. With a burning face he crossed his hands in front of his crotch.

Machado and Zwingli examined him with cold eyes before Machado nodded.

Alfred breathed out the breath he'd been holding in and reached for his boxers.

Machado shook his head. "We need these clothes and the body burned. Zwingli, get a team together and get out to the Chung residence and you," Machado said to Alfred, "get in a shower and clean yourself off."

Zwingli left the room and Alfred stood there, naked and unthinking, watching two soldiers wrap Lien in a blanket as Machado sat at his desk and finished his cigar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Carlos Machado = Cuba; Lien Chung = Vietnam
> 
> **Translations (all Google translated so probably hideously wrong):**
> 
> Vietnamese:  
> Xin = Please  
> Bạn giúp tôi đựơc không? = Can you help me?  
> Tôi = I'm
> 
> Spanish:  
> Maldito idiota Americano = Fucking American Idiot
> 
> **A/N:** I spent a ridiculous amount of time researching Sheriff's Departments (I thought all the employees were Sheriffs and I did not know that the actual Sheriff was elected but there you go) and how you go about finding getting a job in one (which I'm still not 100% sure about but from what I could tell you do a few months training and then you work there..?), and also what Machado's position in the military would be (originally I made him a Colonel but changed my mind to Major later). I've no doubt screwed up somewhere (everywhere?) so feel free to let me know where I've gone wrong. I've also attempted to make this chapter American (it was very weird writing 'mom' instead of 'mum') so again if you spot any mistakes let me know.
> 
> Thanks to twoscarypandas for commenting and to everyone else who hit kudos!


	4. Thread One: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Previously:** Arthur decides to kill himself rather than die at the hands of the undead.

Thread One: Part Two    
Arthur

Arthur pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked uselessly.

The dead man strode forward, arms outstretched, mouth widening. Ten steps away. Now nine.

Cold panic shot up Arthur's spine. He pulled the trigger again but still no bullet took him out of this hell. The man lumbered forwards, seconds away.

Shit, what if it had jammed? That happened, right? At least it did on the telly but he wasn't a cop, or a soldier, or even a goddamn gangster and he had no idea how to fix the problem. No idea and now there was only three steps between them, three steps before the dead man was going to tear into his neck just like it had done his brother.

Arthur pushed backwards on the chair, wincing as it scraped along the floor. He heaved himself up and a cry of pain escaped his lips the moment he moved his leg.

The dead man lunged forward. His hands brushed Arthur's dirty shirt and – reacting on the instinct that had saved him a few broken noses in his teen years – he punched the dead man in the face. For a moment the dead man tilted off balance, but then he was back on this feet and throwing himself at Arthur.

They hit the floor. Hands snagged in his hair, jaws snapped in his face. Arthur used all his strength to maintain the few inches of distance between them. Up this close the pungent scent of decay clogged his throat and made his eyes water. Arthur turned his head to gasp for fresher air. His gaze landed on the gun and he wanted to laugh, or cry, when he understood the reason for the gun's earlier failure to shoot.

Instead he manoeuvred his left elbow to the dead man's throat to hold off gnashing teeth, and used his right to fumble for the gun. Arthur flinched as drool landed on his cheek but his hand curled around the grip.

With his thumb he flicked the safety off and shot the man in the head.

Blood spurted against the underside of the counter as the man flopped on top of him.

Ears still ringing, Arthur inhaled a shaky breath before he tossed the body aside. He wiped the drool off his cheek and hoisted himself up, the pain in his leg returning full force as the adrenaline fled his system.

He avoided looking at the body, avoided thinking about the way his wet shirt clung to his skin, avoided listening to the voice in his head that whispered how easily he had put a bullet in that man's brain.

Instead he lifted his gaze to the window and found the dead making their way to the pharmacy.

Without thinking, Arthur retied the rag tight around his injured thigh and hobbled to the back exit. He shifted the table out of the way, which took more effort than it should, and held his ear to the door. When there was no telltale sign of groaning or scraping fingers, Arthur cracked the door open and peered into the alley. From his position he couldn't see any of them, though he supposed there had to be at least a few lurking out of his sight range.

The pharmacy window smashed and loud moans filled the shop. Arthur didn't spare a glance as he slipped into the alley and softly pulled the door shut behind him.

Dead men shambled down the main road, passing the alley opening without pause. Down the opposite end roamed two women and a child.

Arthur moved the gun to his left hand – determined to shoot only if absolutely necessary – while he scoured the debris for a weapon. Midway between him and the child lay a jagged piece of metal.

There was no way he could get to it without them noticing. Even if he clung to walls and moved at a snail's pace they would sniff him out before he got close enough. And it wasn't like he could run, not with his injury, but staying hidden in the doorway wasn't exactly an option either.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. Images of shooting that dead man in the pharmacy, of people attacking each other in the street, of his brother's hands reaching out for help...

He ground the heel of his palms into his eyes. Christ he needed sleep. And food. And more than a few sips of water.

Arthur opened tired eyes and located the piece of metal. No time like the present.

He pushed himself off the door and travelled along the wall, his movements jerky, probably not too unlike the dead, he thought wryly. The women wandered in loose circles but the boy stood in place, head bowed, arms dangling by his side.

Arthur had crossed a quarter of the distance. His leg throbbed and every step brought fresh pain. Still he clenched his teeth and limped on, even when the wound reopened.

The dead boy lifted his head. The skin around his mouth had been ripped away exposing all his teeth while half of his cheek hung from his face. He sniffed the air and his pale eyes latched onto Arthur, to the blood leaking down his leg.

Arthur's gaze flicked from the boy to the metal. He was closer but he knew the boy would be faster. But maybe not fast enough.

Arthur veered from the wall and did a half-jog, half-hop jig towards the metal. The boy growled, then lunged forwards. His pace was quick but unsteady, reminiscent of Arthur's drunken walks home from the pub.

It was a pitiful race, pitiful but terrifying. The boy was coming his way and behind him the two women were taking notice of the sudden movement. Arthur feared turning around and finding all those passing by the mouth of the alley were coming after him too.

With laboured breathing, sweat dripping down his spine and his leg throbbing, Arthur struggled onwards, struggled until the piece of metal was within grasp.

The boy dove at him as Arthur dove on the metal. His leg gave out and he fell to the hard ground but the impact didn't register because his hand was on the metal and the boy was reaching for his face and the women were close behind.

Arthur impaled the boy on the metal; through his throat and up into his skull. The boy dropped to his knees, gravity bringing him further down the weapon. It was gruesome and hideous and made a thousand times worse when the boy's face flickered for a split second into Peter and Arthur almost gagged.

But he couldn't because the women were nearly on him.

Arthur freed the metal and used it as a cane to push himself up. The woman in a floaty dress reached him first. As soon as she within reach Arthur drove the weapon through her eye socket. He pulled the metal out, suddenly aware of how it was slick with blood, before he swung it in an arc and into the second woman.

She fell to the side and brought the embedded piece of metal with her. Arthur wiped wet hands on the back of his trousers, careful not to bring them anywhere near his wound, before the unmistakable sounds of groaning drew his attention.

Behind him half a dozen of the dead were heading his way from the main street.

Arthur picked up his gun and retrieved the metal and hauled himself down the opposite end of the alley.

In thirty seconds he was passing through the gap in the chain link fence and turning onto a small side street. A quick sweep of his surroundings revealed half a dozen sat in a circle, stuffing their mouths with bloody guts.

Was it Cillian?

But no, of course, that didn't make sense; Cillian had been dead for days. They would have stripped him down long ago.

Arthur shook his head of thoughts and tried to figure out a new hiding space, or maybe an escape route. Was there even a way out of the city?

There had been too many bodies at first, too many people fleeing the city in all directions until it had been impossible not to get crushed or ran over or bitten by those already infected. They'd been caught up in that panic, desperately clinging to one another until they had to turn away when the dead began feasting and soldiers began shooting.

It had been so unbelievably loud with so much shouting and screaming and crying, so loud even without the gunshots and the breaking glass and the car crashes and the snapping of bones.

And now, now there was silence, a ghost town to the nightmare of two days past.

Arthur didn't know if that was better or worse. He supposed though, that there was no more soldiers at roadblocks, no more people clogging up the streets and that, if he got a car he might be able to get out.

Or maybe a motorbike?

Arthur stared at it, parked neatly beside a meter as if waiting for its owner to return.

The motorbike would be able to sneak through the gridlocked roads. It would be loud but it would be quick. It would be more dangerous than a car but a car would be dangerous if trapped in a blocked road.

Satisfied that the dead were still enjoying their latest victim, Arthur hobbled to the bike. There were no keys but he hadn't been expecting them. With some difficulty, Arthur awkwardly managed to clamber into the seat. Recalling his recent years of delinquency, Arthur set to work hotwiring it, just as he done when he was sixteen and had taken Sibhion's motorbike for a joyride. She'd belted him when he'd returned home at three in the morning, and then Alistair had taken his shot, but Cillian had patted Arthur on the back with a grin because he and Sibhion were in an argument and he wanted to piss her off. Then Dylan had come downstairs and told them to shut up whilst Peter slept blissfully unaware in his bed.

The moment of nostalgia was cut short by the sudden movement to his right.

Arthur snatched the piece of metal balanced on his knees and shoved it towards the face of an Asian kid. A living kid. A living kid who also had a knife pointed at Arthur and a small horde of the dead following in his wake.

"Get off my bike or I'll kill you," the kid said, his voice strained.

"Finders keepers."

The kid stared at him and Arthur stared right back, purposefully not looking at the dead creeping their way.

"Do you want to die?"

"Do you think I'll live if I get off this bike?"

The kid's gaze fell to Arthur's back at which point Arthur remembered the fucking gun sticking out of his waist band and how much better it would have been to threaten the kid with that rather than the metal.

"I'm with a doctor," the kid said as his gaze travelled to Arthur's injured thigh, "and we have medicine. Move over and I'll take you to him."

The dead loomed ever closer.

Arthur shifted back in the seat. "Deal."

The kid was leaping onto the bike, twisting a key in the ignition and driving away from the horde in a dizzying speed.

Arthur clung onto the kid's backpack for dear life as they raced down the streets, weaving in and out of the lunging dead until they reached the outskirts of the city and headed into a deserted suburbia. The kid stopped the bike and stood up. "We walk the rest of the way."

"Easier said than done," Arthur murmured as he stood up.

The kid glanced at his bloody thigh as they walked the bike down the quiet streets. "How did it happen?" he asked, the underlying 'were you bitten?' went unsaid.

"Broken glass," Arthur answered. "Back when people were looting, someone smashed a window and I got pushed into the frame."

"It looks bad."

"It feels bad."

As they trailed down the street, Arthur noticed the kid peeking at the gun still tucked away in his belt. Arthur guessed it was the only reason why the kid hadn't jumped on the bike and fled.

"What's your name?" Arthur asked, if only to distract him.

The kid seemed to turn the question over in his mind before he answered with, "Li."

"Arthur. I'd shake your hand but I'm covered in blood."

Li nodded, his face passive but his gaze darting over the gun, over Arthur's blood stained shirt and hands, and over his injury.

"Is there a doctor?" Arthur asked. "Or was that a tactic to get me to move over?"

"There's a doctor."

Relief flooded his system.

They walked down the street at a relaxed pace and Arthur took the opportunity to look at the kid. On closer inspection he guessed the kid wasn't so much a kid but a young adult, maybe late teens, but it was hard to tell with Li's short height and the smudged dirt on his face. Choppy dark brown hair framed a stoic face and clothes that were at least two sizes too big emphasised his slim frame. Above brown eyes were thick eyebrows that wouldn't look out of place on a Kirkland.

Li peered his way, those dark eyebrows lowering a fraction into what might be considered a frown. "What?" he asked.

Arthur shook his head but Li remained staring at him.

"Where are the dead, the living dead I mean?" Arthur asked, again to distract Li more than anything. "This neighbourhood is surprisingly quiet."

"They're at the hospital. Lots of bodies there for them to... eat."

"Oh," was all Arthur could think to add.

"How did you get that blood on you?" Li asked.

"From killing them."

"Have you killed any of us?"

Arthur shook his head. He hadn't and for that he was grateful.

From the brief nod his way, Li appeared to take his word, or maybe it was a ruse to lower Arthur's guard. Or maybe Arthur was pessimistic.

After a few more minutes of painful walking, Li turned into a driveway and parked his motorbike before leading Arthur into the house.

Almost immediately, a voice called out from the depths and light footsteps sounded their way.

"Xiao Chun! Xiao Chun are you alright? Were you hur-"

The man came into view and froze when he found Arthur. He was Asian too, a little taller than Li with longer hair but thinner eyebrows. He glared at Arthur. "Who are you?" he spat out before turning his anger onto Li. "Who is he? Why did you bring him here?"

Li shrugged. "I had to."

"What kind of answer is that?"

When Arthur leant against the wall to alleviate the weight off his injured leg, the man saw the gun still tucked away.

"Did he threaten you?" the man asked and grabbed the nearest object – a lamp – and brandished it in Arthur's direction. "Did he hurt you?"

"He tied to steal my bike," Li answered, sounding bored.

"So you brought him here?"

"I didn't have much choice, not with the zombies chasing me."

"I told you not to call them that." The man frowned when he saw the rag around Arthur's thigh. "Are you bitten? Are you infected?"

"No, just unlucky. Or lucky depending on the way you look at it," Arthur said with a harsh laugh.

The man lowered the lamp and tilted his head as if assessing Arthur. "When was the last time you slept or ate?"

"A day or two, I think."

The man shook his head. "Xiao Chun fetch some water for..."

"Arthur."

"...for Arthur and put the kettle on."

"A cup of tea?" Arthur asked, momentarily delighted as he allowed the doctor to lead him into the living room and onto the couch.

"To sterilise water so I can clean your wound, idiot," the doctor said.

"Well, I'd still love a cuppa if you could."

"No milk," Li said as he returned with a glass of water.

Arthur accepted it eagerly and downed the contents in seconds, almost moaning as the cool liquid soothed his parched throat.

Li took the empty glass and disappeared once more as the doctor pushed Arthur onto the sofa. Arthur wiggled an arm under his back to retrieve the gun digging into his spine and handed it to the doctor. He held it with distaste and moved it to a side table with great delicacy.

As he lay back on the soft cushions, a wave of exhaustion rolled over Arthur and his eyelids lowered.

Before he passed out, Arthur remembered the gun and that he was supposed to have used it on himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Cillian = Northern Ireland; Siobhan = Republic of Ireland; Alistair = Scotland; Dylan = Wales; Xiao Chun Li = Hong Kong
> 
>  **A/N:** So yeah, Arthur's alive... sorry for the misdirection. I actually planned to end the first chapter on a cliffhanger with Arthur about to be killed by the zombie but then his committing suicide came to me and seemed a perfect ending. Sorry if it feels like a cop out but I never planned to kill Arthur off, at least not this early in the game.
> 
> Thanks to SpeckledPanda and twoscarypandas for commenting on the previous chapter and to those who hit kudos!


	5. Thread Two: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beilschmidt's and the Vargas' get to know one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Previously:** The Beilschmidt's take up the Vargas' offer of a meal.
> 
> **Character Reminder:** Alaric = Germania; Julius = Rome; Marcello = Seborga

  
Thread Two: Part Two   
Ludwig   


The church the Vargas' took them to was seemingly in the middle of nowhere, found only by a one lane dirt road almost hidden beneath overgrown weeds. The ramshackle church was small; two rows of ten benches before a crucifix and a wooden table that stood as an altar. They walls were neutrally painted and unadorned, the windows mostly clear but for the stained glass centrepiece above the altar. The years of neglect had taken its toll though, with the corner wall crumbled leaving a gap large enough to squeeze through.

An old door with a broken lock led to the household quarters . Like the church it was small, separated into three rooms and barely big enough to contain the seven on them. Sparse worn furniture scattered the rooms, including a working – though appallingly loud – refrigerator and a cooker in the kitchen along with a ragged sofa. The only thing in the bedroom was a creaky double bed.

While the Beilschmidt's investigated the church, Feliciano, with help from his brothers, had the dinner cooked in no time at all.

"This is fucking delicious," Gilbert said as he slurped the pasta.

Ludwig elbowed him in the ribs and nodded towards Marcello.

"What, I have to be polite because they've got a kid?"

"Ja."

"Don't worry about it," Julius said as he reclined along the floor. "Marcello's heard much worse from Lovi's mouth."

"Lovi knows the best swear words," Marcello said proudly. "In Italian, English _and_ Spanish."

Lovino growled in annoyance.

"Ja well you should hear me swear in German."

"It's not a competition," their father said shooting Gilbert an annoyed look.

Gilbert grinned back. "It could be."

"It's not."

Ludwig sighed. Why had he thought being in the company of others would stop his father and brother from arguing? All their lives the two had been at each other's throat; their father setting standards and goals that Gilbert purposely rebelled against. He'd expected Gilbert to achieve good grades and go to university but Gilbert had preferred skipping school and getting drunk or high with his less than respectable friends. Their division had only worsened over the years when Ludwig – so alike his father in looks and aspirations – followed the path set before him without wiggling so much as a toe out of line. Even so, Gilbert never resented Ludwig for their father's respect and Ludwig never lost patience for his brother's antics.

Feeling watched, Ludwig glanced to the side and found Feliciano staring at him with big amber eyes.

Ludwig blinked and looked away as his face heated. He didn't know what it was about the Italian but over the course of the afternoon, he had found Feliciano staring or smiling at him. It put him on edge, especially when Lovino caught those looks and sent Ludwig his own, less cheerful, versions.

He twirled the spaghetti around his fork and ate another few mouthfuls until he couldn't take the staring anymore.

"Um, is there something you want?" he asked Feliciano.

Feliciano flashed a smile that lit up his face. "You're very beautiful," he said, far too loudly and casually.

Ludwig turned beetroot as Gilbert snorted and Lovino blanched.

Never had anyone called Ludwig beautiful. Never had Ludwig thought himself beautiful. It just wasn't something anyone associated with him. At best he was handsome, at worst he was severe but he was not beautiful.

"Looks like you've got an admirer, Lutz," Gilbert said with a smirk. "You should get in there before we leave."

Lovino glared at him. "Don't be perverted, bastard, Feli didn't mean anything by it."

Feliciano shook his head at Lovino's words. "Yes I did. I meant Ludwig is beautiful."

"Mmm," Julius nodded. "You have classical features, just like your papà. Though he could do with frowning less," Julius said with a chuckle and topped off his glass with more wine.

Their father narrowed his eyes at Julius but Ludwig caught the faint tinge of red on his cheeks.

Feliciano leaned towards Ludwig and proceeded to thoroughly examine him with such a focused stare that Ludwig felt naked under his gaze. "I wish I could paint you," Feliciano murmured.

Ludwig froze. Was... was Feliciano flirting with him? In front of their families with the dead walking around outside the church?

Ludwig had no idea how to react. Of course he had no idea how to react to flirting in ordinary circumstances but this was so much worse with so much more potential for embarrassment; in fact he'd rather deal with the dead than fail to flirt with Feliciano.

"Is he alright?" Marcello asked.

Gilbert snickered. "I think Feli broke him."

Feliciano backed away. "Oh, I didn't mean to upset you. Mi dispiace!"

Ludwig breathed easier with Feliciano no longer in his personal space.

"Feliciano is an artist, a very talented artist" Julius said with a fond look at his son. "Though he can be over enthusiastic when he finds a subject that catches his attention."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it," Ludwig said as he rubbed the back of his neck and willed his blush to die down.

"He was going to be famous," Lovino said, his tone both sullen and sombre.

The jovial mood fell. Feliciano would no longer paint, Ludwig would no longer walk his dogs, Gilbert would no longer drink until he passed out at the local pub. There were so many things they would never do again, and so many things they would never get the chance to do.

Ludwig dropped his gaze to his food. He wasn't normally one for introspection but he supposed if there was ever a time to reflect it was now.

"Way to ruin the mood," Gilbert said to Lovino.

Their father turned to Gilbert. "Don't start," he said, his tone sharp.

"He was the one who-"

"You're twenty six years old, stop acting like a petulant child."

Julius laughed. "Ah, but it is so boring to act your age. I much prefer to act with the spirit of youth."

Their father's jaw tightened. Ludwig suppressed a smile. Julius was exactly the kind of man their father hated, exactly the kind of man that he would have avoided in his past life. Too carefree, too idle, too motivated by base pleasures; the polar opposite of Alaric. This was probably his father's idea of hell, more so than the apocalypse outside.

"Not everyone has that luxury," their father said.

"It's not about luxury," Julius said with a wave of hand, wine spilling over the side of his glass, "It's about attitude. You can choose to be young at heart, or, as in your case, an uptight old coot."

Gilbert cackled and their father ground his teeth.

"Ice-cream!" Ludwig blurted out before the conversation could turn into argument.

"Yes, yes, ice-cream," Marcello shouted and jumped up to fetch the tubs from the rusting refrigerator.

Feliciano giggled and Ludwig glanced his way, surprised at the lightness of his laughter. Feliciano turned his sunny smile to him and Ludwig focused on his beer.

Marcello set the ice-cream tubs, bowls and spoons down with a clatter and flopped to the floor. "Strawberry's my favourite so don't hog it all," Marcello said, waving his spoon in the Beilschmidt's faces.

"Pfft, everyone knows mint choc chip is the best," Gilbert said and grabbed a bowl. He and Marcello served the ice-cream and spent the entire time discussing flavours.

Conversation steered towards Italian and German dishes and no more arguments broke out. When everyone was full and a little merry on wine and beer, the atmosphere settled into quiet contentment.

"So," Julius said and rolled onto his back. "Where are the three of you heading?"

Both Gilbert and Ludwig turned to their father, waiting for his approval before revealing anything.

He mulled the question over for a moment before answering. "Georgia. When the radio was still running the latest reports claimed towns in the rural south were still uninfected. Since we have distant relatives in Georgia it seems a good choice."

"Oh," Julius said.

"Where are you going?" Ludwig asked.

"We're here," Feliciano replied.

"You mean in this state?"

Feliciano shook his head. "This church."

Gilbert's mouth dropped open and Ludwig sat straighter. Even their father wore an incredulous look.

"Seriously?" Gilbert asked. "Your plan is to stay in this dump?"

"Shut up," Lovi snapped. "Not all of us are steroid pumped brick walls like you arseholes. We have a fucking kid and three fucking guns with no spare ammo and where the fuck would we go? We don't have family and even if we did we'd be food for those shitheads before we hit the next town."

"Lovi..." Feliciano murmured.

"What? You want me to fawn all over them because they break concrete with their ugly faces? If they're going insult us and our church then they can get the fuck out!"

Julius sat up and squeezed Lovino's shoulders. "Calm down, Lovi. There's no need to get yourself worked up."

"He didn't mean it," Feli said looking up at Germans with sad eyes.

"I fucking did. Stop trying to make nice with those bastards, Feli."

Julius shook his head. "I don't know why you're so mad; they're saying exactly the same thing you said two days ago."

Lovino pulled out of Julius' grasp. "Yeah, well, I can say it but they can't."

"Wait," Marcello said with a frown. "Should we not stay here?"

Gilbert glanced at Ludwig who shook his head. Lovino stared at the floor, Julius focused on swirling his wine around the glass and Feliciano drew his legs up to his chest.

"What's going on?" Marcello turned to their father. "You said we'd be safe here."

"I said we'd be safer here rather than in town," Julius said. "But nowhere will be completely safe."

"They said it's safe in Georgia so why can't we go there?"

"It's too dangerous for us to risk travelling."

"Then why don't we go with them?" Marcello asked, his voice reaching a higher pitch. "If we'd be safer with them then why can't we go to Georgia together?"

"It's not that simple, figlio," Julius said softly.

"Why not?"

"Because..."

"Because it fucking isn't," Lovino spat.

Another uncomfortable silence followed, broken by Julius sighing and sitting up. "It's getting dark," he said with a nod to the window. "You should stay here the night and we can have breakfast in the morning."

"Alright," their father said without the need for persuasion. "But we need to block the windows and try and cover that hole in the wall. We should set a watch through the night too."

"We'll be fine," Julius said. "We've been here the last two nights without any problem."

"You were lucky. Tonight we might not be."

"Alright, alright, you win. Let's get it over with before I'm too drunk to move."

Under their father's direction, both families worked together to board up the few windows in the household quarters. The hole in the church wall they covered with the wooden table, though it wasn't quite wide enough to block out the gap completely, and both the church doors and the back door were sturdy enough not to need reinforcement.

Sparse candles lit the living room, leaving far corners in darkness and shadows dancing on the walls. With the drop in temperature and the eerie lighting, the threat of the cannibalistic dead outside their walls became all the more real. The others seemed to feel the same too, if the change in atmosphere was anything to go by. The Vargas siblings sat on the sofa in silence with their father nearby on the chair, gazing into his wineglass. Gilbert played solitaire, their father sat at the table and Ludwig leant against a counter in the kitchen area, unsure what to do with himself.

"It's scary here at night," Marcello whispered.

"We'll be fine," Lovino said.

"What if-"

"We'll be fine."

Marcello closed his mouth and leant in closer to Feliciano.

 

#

 

Ludwig flipped up his collar and tightened the blanket tight around him to keep out the drafts from the hole in the wall. The church was dark and solemn and the imposing outline of the crucifix in the corner made him wish he'd been better at attending services over the years. At least with his Catholic upbringing he didn't feel quite the heretic sitting in front of Jesus Christ with a gun in his hands.

The pew creaked as Ludwig shifted, the only noise in and out the church. In the household quarters both families were fast asleep, the Vargas' squished in the bedroom and his father on the sofa and Gilbert on the floor. In an hour he would have the joy of waking up his grouchy brother before he could curl up in his sleeping bag and get some well needed rest.

The next half hour passed like the one before – slowly and silently – until a movement caught Ludwig's eye. He instantly awoke from his docile stupor and clicked the safety off his gun. Only then did he realise the movement was the door to the household opening and not a body clambering through the gap.

"Ludwig?"

"Feliciano? What are you doing here?" Ludwig asked as he relaxed and loosened his hold on the pistol.

"I couldn't sleep," Feliciano whispered. He crept forwards, his figure a dark shape in the barely there light, and took a seat besides Ludwig.

"Oh," Ludwig mumbled, conscious of the warm body beside him and his own pathetic attempt at conversation.

"It's cold in here."

"Um, ja."

Awkward silence hung between the two of them as Ludwig tried desperately to think of something to say. Nothing came to him.

Beside him Feliciano hugged his knees to his chest. "Do you want me to leave?"

Ludwig glanced to the little Italian. "You can stay if you want."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I... don't mind."

Feliciano hummed in response and stared at his hands. "Thank you," he whispered.

Ludwig turned to him in surprise. "What? Why?"

"For handing me my gun, for coming here with us, for letting me sit with you."

"But, you don't need to thank me for that."

Feliciano shrugged, his shoulders brushing against Ludwig's arms. "You didn't have to be so nice."

Ludwig scratched the back of his neck. "I just did what anyone would do."

"That's not true," Feliciano said and rubbed his cheek against his knee. "People are... people aren't very nice anymore."

Ludwig nodded, his thoughts turning to the nightmare at the supermarket.

"But you're nice," Feliciano said. "I like you."

Ludwig's face heated and he was grateful for the dark to hide his blush. It seemed every time Feliciano opened his mouth he left Ludwig flustered, which was ridiculous because he was far too old to be reacting like a teenage girl around her crush.

"Ja, you're, um, nice too."

Feliciano's smile was visible even in the dim lighting and Ludwig couldn't help but return it.

"That's how I'd paint you," Feliciano said with a tilt of his head. "Smiling."

"You paint portraits?" Ludwig asked, to turn the attention off of himself.

"I paint what I find striking."

"Oh..." Ludwig managed, grateful that his brother wasn't there to hear their conversation.

Feliciano nodded. "I enjoyed painting and I was good at it. Sometimes I think painting and pasta are the only things I'm good at."

Ludwig was saddened to see Feliciano's smile fall.

"I'm not good at this," Feliciano continued. "At... at any of this. I'm not strong or brave like you or papà, or even Lovi when he's protecting us. I'm just scared and useless."

Ludwig's gaze flicked to the hole in the wall, almost wishing for one of the dead to break in and save him from having to comfort Feliciano. He'd even prefer Lovino storming into the church to insult him some more but neither were forthcoming.

He lifted his hand, paused, then laid it atop Feliciano shoulder.

The Italian turned his head and met Ludwig's gaze. "I'm glad you're here," he said softly. "I feel safe when you're around."

Ludwig squeezed his shoulder. Feliciano laid his head on his knees and closed his eyes.

 

#

Feliciano slept cuddled into Ludwig's side, keeping him warm as the hour passed slowly and without incident. Ludwig almost didn't want to wake him, not when he was sleeping so soundly, his face serene in the dim lighting, but Ludwig needed his own rest and they'd both be a lot more comfortable in their sleeping bags.

Ludwig nudged Feliciano's shoulder but he only shuffled closer. "Feliciano," he mumbled. "Feliciano it's time to wake up."

The Italian ignored him, as deep in sleep as before.

Ludwig couldn't help smiling as he tugged Feliciano into his arms and carried him from the church and through the living quarters and into the bedroom. He stepped over Lovino and Julius on the floor and laid Feliciano in the bed beside Marcello.

He returned to the living room and knelt beside Gilbert. "Your turn," he said as he shook him awake.

Gilbert pulled the sleeping bag above his head. "Five more minutes."

"Now, Gilbert," Ludwig said, knowing Gilbert's five minutes tended to stretch to thirty.

"Verdammt, warum bin ich schon dran? Das ätzt!"

"Ja ich weiss aber du bist noch dran."

Gilbert groaned but dragged himself up and disappeared into the church.

Ludwig glanced at his father on the sofa before settling into his sleeping bag.

 

#

 

Shouting woke Ludwig. He was alert in an instant, eyes widening at the sight before him.

The dead were in the living room, streaming in from the church.

Ludwig didn't have chance to guess their numbers as an obese man missing half his stomach collapsed on him.

He scrambled for his pistol, claiming the handle as the man's brains were splattered across the wall.

Gilbert kicked the man aside and pulled Ludwig to his feet. "How the fuck did they get in here? Who the fuck is on watch?"

A scream sounded from the bedroom; Marcello, Ludwig guessed.

"We'll figure that out later," their father shouted as he aimed. He shot the one lunging for his face and Ludwig and Gilbert took position beside him. The three of them eliminated the dead one by one in quick succession and made their way to the bedroom were more shots were being fired.

Ludwig was the first in the bedroom. He found four of the dead already in there – two pinning Julius on the floor and the other two scrambling over the bed for Marcello and Feliciano cowering in the corner. Feliciano shot at the closest dead man, clipping his head but missing his brain.

Ludwig took him out and then the other whilst Gilbert shot the ones snapping at Julius.

"Lovi!" Marcello cried out. "Lovi's in the church."

Their father cursed and left the room, Gilbert behind him.

"Are you alright?" Ludwig asked them.

"Yeah, we're fine. Go make sure Lovi's ok," Julius said and waved him off.

Ludwig nodded and chased the gunshots to the church, blasting through the wooden door and straight into the arms of a dead woman.

Ludwig jerked his head from her mouth but determined fingers gripped painfully in his hair, dragging him close so that all he could smell was the stench of blood and rancid meat in her breath. He moved the pistol under her jaw and shot.

As her fingers loosened, a second pair clasped his bicep. Ludwig jerked his arm back and the child stumbled but clung on with blunt nails. He caught the child's hands in one of his own, and then froze.

Shots blasted through the room, screaming and shouting echoed in his ears and twisted, decaying bodies groaned and lurched towards their food. Ludwig ignored all but for the little boy with one eye and brutally bitten body gnashing his stained red teeth and almost foaming at the mouth with his desperation to feed. He couldn't have been older than six.

Julius banged into the church, his shirt covered in blood. "Lovi? Lovi?"

Ludwig blinked, the screaming in the church registering as Lovino's from where he struggled on the floor surrounded by corpses. Alaric stood a few feet away fending off three men as Julius forced his way through the bodies to his son.

Ludwig placed the pistol to the boy's temple and tried not to notice how his face exploded with the shot. He absently wiped the blood off his face with his arm.

"Get them off me! Get them off me!"

Ludwig jerked at Lovino's shrieking and located the Italian grappling with a large woman trying to bite his neck. Julius was under the benches, trying to pull Lovino free as Alaric and Gilbert wrestled with the men and women crawling over them.

He aimed and took down the woman over Lovino before turning to his family and stopping the man with his hands in Alaric's shirt. Before he could shoot the young woman attacking his brother, Ludwig was caught in the arms of a tattooed man and knocked to the floor.

His gun fell from his grasp and Ludwig swore under his breath as he struggled to free his arms and keep the man at a distance. He managed to roll them over, grab the man's head and snap his neck. The man's body fell limp but his mouth carried on biting and his eyes continued watching Ludwig.

"Lutz!" Gilbert yelled in his ear before dragging him to his feet. "Are you alright?"

Ludwig nodded. "You?"

"Ja, you know me, I'm always great. Lovi's about to get his face ripped off though so we should probably help him."

Ludwig followed Gilbert and the two of them shot the three dead women snaking their way under the benches to the Vargas'.

The bullets stopped and only Lovino's crying, Julius' comforting words and the gargle from the tattooed man filled the air leaving the church almost silent in comparison.

Gilbert sank into one of the benches and Ludwig followed him.

Lovino unabashedly held onto Julius, his face wet with tears and blood splatter.

Their father looked over the bodies and pools of blood to Gilbert and Ludwig. "Either of you bitten?"

Ludwig shook his head.

"Nah, we're good," Gilbert said and slapped Ludwig on the back.

Their father nodded. "Take Lovino inside and check on his brothers. Julius and I'll see about blocking up that wall before any more get in."

Julius gently pushed Lovino towards them and Ludwig and Gilbert caught an arm each.

"Urgh, you're all gross," Gilbert complained lightly as they stumbled into the next room.

"Shut up," Lovino said, his words punctuated with a sniffle.

Feliciano and Marcello opened the bedroom door to the sound of their voices. They rushed forward and grabbed their brother, the three of them immediately bawling their eyes out. Gilbert and Ludwig shared a look.

Gilbert shrugged. "I need a drink. Want one, Lutz?"

No, I just need a minute." Ludwig sat on the bed and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

  

Gilbert

Gilbert grabbed a beer from the cooler and chugged half the bottle in one go.

Verdammt.

What a fucking way to start the day.

He inhaled gunpowder and decay, swallowed the taste down with a gulp of his beer before pressing the cool glass to his forehead.. He tuned out the weeping Italians in the bedroom, focused on the tinny in his ears from the gunfire.

Fucking Lovino. Fucking zombies. Fucking apocalypse.

Gilbert rubbed tired eyes. It was too early in the morning to be dealing with the fucking undead bursting in on them, too early to be covered in blood and picking guts off his top. Why couldn't the Schweine wait until after breakfast before ruining their day?

Gilbert finished his beer before following a trail of blood droplets into the church. His dad and Julius stood at the hole, their backs to him as they pushed the table back into place.

"What are we going to do?" Julius asked.

Gilbert glanced at the mound of bodies and the rest scattered throughout the room. They should take them outside and burn them, then fix that hole properly, assuming the Vargas' were dumb enough to stick with the church.

"We're not going to tell them."

Gilbert looked up sharply at that.

Julius indicated the zombie near his feet. "They're going to realise when we turn into _them_."

Gilbert spluttered.

Both men spun around, their expressions caught between grief and guilt.

"What the fuck? You're bitten?" Gilbert asked, his eyes wide as he looked between the two of them.

For the longest moment no one moved an inch or spoke a word. Then his dad lifted up the side of his shirt and revealed the bite on his hip. Julius displayed the one on chest.

"Don't tell my boys," Julius whispered. "It'll destroy them."

Gilbert sagged against the wall. "You don't think turning into a zombie will destroy them more?"

"I think them knowing now will ruin whatever time we have left."

"You can't hide this from them, from Lutz."

His dad walked forward and dropped a heavy hand on Gilbert's shoulder.

"Give Julius this last day with his sons. And me with mine."

Gilbert lowered his gaze to the blood drenching through his dad's shirt. "How could you let yourself be bit? Aren't you the one who's supposed to have fucking hand to hand training?"

His dad narrowed his eyes and Gilbert anticipated a lecture on respect. Instead he found himself pulled into a tight hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations (mostly Google translated but with some help from my sister):**
> 
> Italian:  
> Mi dispiace! = I'm sorry!  
> figlio = son
> 
> German:  
> Verdammt, warum bin ich schon dran? Das ätzt! = God dammit, why is it my turn already. This sucks!  
> Ja ich weiss aber du bist noch dran = Yes I know but it's still your turn  
> Verdammt = God dammit  
> Schweine - bastards (literally pigs)
> 
> **A/N:** I don't know why but I had a lot of trouble with this chapter so it ended up taking way longer than I thought it would. I hope it's not too hideous.
> 
> Once again thanks to twoscarypandas for commenting on the last chapter.
> 
> Also, Happy New Year to all my readers! I hope everyone has a great 2014!


	6. Thread Three: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vash investigates an outbreak at the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Previously:** Alfred meets a bitten woman and takes her to Machado who orders her execution. The woman attempts to attack Alfred but is killed and Alfred is forced to strip to prove the woman did not bite him.
> 
> **Character reminder:** Carlos Machado = Cuba

Thread Three: Part Two   
Alfred

Alfred pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine. Lights illuminated the living room and he pictured his parents curled up on the couch watching a movie, his dad with a beer in hand and his mom distracting him with gossip. Alfred imagined himself walking into the house and joining them, his mom jokingly asking if he'd got any dirt on the neighbours and his dad asking how his day went. His mom would remind him of dinner in the oven and his dad would let him have a beer – but just the one – and he'd sit on the chair and tell them the usual drunk and disorderly or chasing stoned teens out of barns (and occasionally finding Mattie hanging out with them). They would laugh and chat for a while longer before Alfred left to play video games until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

Today would not be like that. There would be no smiles as he told them about the bitten woman who'd watched her father kill her mother, no laughs as he spoke of her heartless assassination as she begged for Alfred to save her. Today would not be like that. Alfred suddenly doubted any day would be like that again.

He tugged his jacket from the passenger seat and wore it to cover the fact that he was in his gym clothes. Then he forced a smile on his face and headed inside to convince his parents that he was fine, that there was no problems and if they continued to believe, everything would be ok.

* * *

Vash

"Meirda. How bad is it?" Machado asked the soldier in front of him.

"Two cases, sir."

Machado tapped his cigar ash into a styrofoam cup. "How?"

"We don't know, sir. Both the infected have been quarantined to their rooms since they turned."

Machado took a long drag of his cigar and stretched back in his chair. He puffed smoke rings into the air.

The soldier remained stock still in front of the desk as the silence went on, though his questioning gaze flicked to Vash for a moment.

Vash Zwingli paid him little mind, his thoughts still with the news that the dead had risen in the hospital. It shouldn't be possible; they'd painstakingly examined every single man, woman, and child inside for signs of infection before stationing guards at every entrance. Passage into the building was only permitted with a thorough examination by two soldiers and should one of the dead reach the building they would be gunned down long before the virus could be spread to the hospital doors. The only possible way an infected could be inside was if several of their men fucked up at once, and that seemed too unlikely to consider.

The chair creaked as Machado sat up. "You're dismissed," he told the soldier. "Get me Batkhuyag on your way out."

The soldier left and a few moments later Batkhuyag entered the room.

"There's dead walking around the hospital," Machado said before Batkhuyag could speak. "I want you and Zwingli to inside to find out what the fuck is going on in there."

Batkhuyag looked to Vash and narrowed brown eyes. "You want me to take him?"

"Yes."

"Is this a joke? Kid hasn't hit puberty yet."

Vash didn't react. He'd already spent two years in the army being mocked for his short height and thin body so Batkhuyag's words held little effect.

"The kid saved my life and at least another dozen of my men. He's joining you."

"Just because he got lucky once-"

"Zwingli didn't get lucky," Machado interrupted. "Zwingli held his ground in Atlanta when SOB's twice his age and with twice at much experience turned tail and ran. He made good decisions and kept a cool head. Why else do you think I'm taking him under my wing, Batkhuyag? Because he looks good in green?"

"Fine. When?" Batkhuyag asked.

"Don't wait on fucking ceremony. Get in the hospital and find me some fucking answers." Machado ended the conversation by stubbing his cigar into the cup.

#

Dressed in bullet proof vests and armed to the teeth, they approached the back entrance, away from the eyes of civilians who might panic. The soldiers at the door acknowledged them with curt nods before shutting them within.

Inside lacked the usual ambience of a hospital, the people, the atmosphere, even the clinical scent. Instead they were met with stains on the floor, eerily empty hallways, and distant mumbling. They spared a moment to acclimate themselves before Batkhuyag led the way down the corridor to the reception.

A lone nurse squealed and dropped the folder in her arms. "What are you doing here? What's going on?"

"We've heard the infection has spread into the hospital," Batkhuyag said. "You know anything about that?"

The nurse raised her hands to her face. "Yes, yes, thank God you're here. Mr Horvath in room one-sixteen and Sophia in one-twenty-eight are both... they're both one of _them_."

"Are they the only ones?" Vash asked.

"So far."

"And are they still in their rooms?"

The nurse nodded. "We locked them in after they... came back. We didn't know what else to do with them and the soldiers guarding the doors told us to leave them there."

"Take us to them," Batkhuyag ordered.

"Yes, of course."

She led them down the corridors. They passed nurses and doctors and nervous patients ducking their heads or peering at them through gaps in doorways.

"Do you how they could be infected?" Vash asked the nurse.

"I- no, I honestly have no idea. No one on staff can explain it."

"Did they come into contact with each other, share medication or doctors?"

"No, they were both bed ridden and treated by different staff and with different medication."

"What about meals or drinks?"

"They've eaten the same food and drinks as everyone else on this floor but they're the only ones who..."

"What about sponge baths? Was the same water source, cloth or tub used?"

"Again we use the same water source for everyone but the cloths and the tub wouldn't be shared."

"Visitors?"

"Only Sophia's mother and she has not been near Mr Horvath's room."

Vash frowned. It didn't make sense. How had these two patients – and only these two patients – gotten infected?

"Give me a rundown of events," Batkhuyag said. "When did they turn and what happened before that."

"Sophia had terminal cancer and passed away at approximately four this afternoon. We left her mother alone in the room until fifteen minutes later we heard her screams and ran in to find Sophia clawing at her. We were able to tie her to the bed before locking her inside."

The nurse twisted greasy strands of hair behind her ear and soothed out the wrinkles in her stained scrubs. "Mr Horvath passed away and, er, came back at six-twenty. He attacked the doctor calling his time of death but he and the nurses got out." She looked at Vash with bloodshot eyes. "When I pass his room I can hear him scratching at the door and groaning. It makes me sick to my stomach knowing what happened to poor Mr Horvath. He was too good a man to end up as a monster."

"How did Horvath die?" Batkhuyag asked.

"A stroke, we think, but the doctor had no chance to confirm before he was attacked."

"Are they the only ones who have died since yesterday?"

"No, a patient died in surgery this morning at nine forty."

"Where is the patient?"

"He was held in the morgue for several hours until his body was sent to the funeral home to be incinerated as per the new rules."

"And no one else who died came back?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Makes no fucking sense," Batkhuyag swore under his breath.

Vash shared his thoughts.

The nurse led them to Sophia's room first then backed away to the opposite wall. They saw her through the window, tied to the bed – fingers twitching but otherwise calm.

That all changed the second Vash unlocked the door. Her head snapped up, body straining at the straps and teeth gnashing on air. She was only about twelve.

Batkhuyag entered the room, knife in hand. He pulled at the straps around her ankles and relaxed when they held firm. He took one side of her bed as Vash trained his gun on the girl.

Batkhuyag turned her head away with one hand and pushed his knife into the back of her skull. Her body fell limp.

"Leave her here for now," Batkhuyag told the nurse. "I want her examined before she's incinerated. Where's the other man?"

"Th-this way."

She led them, silent now, to Mr Horvath's room. Like she said, they heard the man wandering around his space.

"You want to go in first, Mr Zombie Whisperer?" Batkhuyag asked Vash.

Vash ignored his comment.

"Fine. I'll distract him and you stab him."

Vash opened the door, revealing Mr Horvath, an elderly man with a short white beard and a balding head. Mr Horvath turned their way, groaning as he did. He strode forward – bare feet slapping against the linoleum – straight into Batkhuyag's arms. Vash ducked around Horvath and jammed the knife in his skull.

He hit the floor with a thud. Vash watched the blood ooze from the hole in Horvath's skull and pool around their feet.

How were they supposed to protect the town when the infected were somehow already in their walls?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Characters:** Batkhuyag = Mongolia
> 
> **Translations:**
> 
> Spanish:  
> Mierda = Shit
> 
> **A/N:** Sorry for the long break between chapters - I've been distracted writing my own book whilst being my usual procrastinating self. Also sorry that it's kind of short; I was gonna add a lot more stuff but as I was writing this chapter I got a little stuck because too many things were happening too fast. So I cut some stuff but more action and drama will come later.
> 
> I was originally gonna have Batkhuyag be an OC as I wanted an older soldier alongside Vash (since it wouldn't make sense Machado sending in an eighteen year old by himself) but I saw him in the list of characters and thought 'why not?'. (I then got completely distracted for literally hours researching Mongolian names and their structure because Khan seemed too obvious a choice.)
> 
> I'm currently writing the next chapter and I know where I'm going with it so hopefully it should be out next month and not next year.
> 
> And thanks to twoscarypandas for commenting and to everyone who left kudos!


	7. Thread One: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur recuperates at the Wang residence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Previously:** Arthur meets Li who takes him to his uncle.
> 
> **Character Reminder:** Cillian = Northern Ireland; Siobhan = Republic of Ireland; Alistair = Scotland; Dylan = Wales; Xiao Chun Li = Hong Kong

Thread One: Part Three   
Arthur

Arthur woke with a dry mouth and a sharp headache. He raised his hands to block out the too bright sunlight and found himself bound at the wrists. His sluggish thoughts snapped alert.

Why was he tied up? Who had tied him? And looking at Hello Kitty knick-knacks, where the fuck was he?

Arthur sat up slowly, trying not to jostle his injured leg. Looking down he found his thigh bandaged and, more worryingly, himself half naked.

"About time you woke up."

Arthur followed the voice to an Asian man sitting on a chair with a textbook in hand.

"Who the hell are you?" Arthur asked, his voice gruff and throat sore.

The man huffed and dropped the textbook onto the coffee table. "I'm the one who saved your life so show me gratitude, brat."

"Saved my life? You tied me up and stripped me; in what universe is that saving my life?"

"Without my help you would be outside with those monsters, dehydrated with an open wound waiting to be infected. You're lucky I decided to help you."

The words brought hazy memories to mind, something to do with a dead boy in an alley and a live boy on a bike.

Arthur peered around the room. The furniture was sparse and neat with a maroon colour scheme dominated by the plethora of tied coins, Buddha statues, golden cats, three legged toads, dragons, turtles and more that were strung across the walls and littered the shelves.

Then he looked back down at himself sat in only his boxers.

"Why did you strip me?"

The man turned up his nose. "Your clothes were covered in blood and ripped to shreds. If you're so desperate for them back you can pick them out of the rubbish on your way out."

"You're kicking me out?"

"This is my home, not a hospital for idiots my nephew brings back."

"Why did you bother sewing up my leg if you're going to make me leave."

"Because I'm a surgeon and I fix people. It's not my problem what happens to you after I've done my job."

"You ever hear of after care?"

"That's for nurses and care workers."

"You're not known for your people skills are you?"

"I'm known for my work with a scalpel."

Arthur dropped his gaze to his leg. His fingertips flitted over the bandage. "You're good then? At stitching people back together?"

"The best," the doctor said, a hint of pride in his tone.

"So my leg will be alright?"

"Yes, but there will be a scar."

Arthur shrugged. He'd acquired more than his fair share of scars during his punk phase.

The doctor stood up. "You can stay the night but no longer. And take a shower, you stink."

"A shower wasn't exactly my priority when I was fighting for my life."

"It is in my house. And I have yet to receive any gratitude, brat."

"Yeah, thanks," Arthur mumbled. "And my name's Arthur, not brat."

"Yao Wang. Go clean yourself before you stink up the entire house."

#

Arthur paused in the doorway to the bathroom. Bloody hell it was fancy, with its free-standing bathtub, two sinks, heated towel rail and walk in shower big enough for two. And it was huge, bigger than the bedroom he'd shared with Dylan and Peter growing up. Arthur hadn't seen anything like it outside of a showroom.

He entered the room and warmth seeped into his feet. It had a heated floor too? Obviously he should have gone to medical school instead of pursuing an English degree that had left him thousands in debt in a one bedroom flat above a corner shop.

Arthur limped into the room and stripped off his boxers inside the shower. He turned the temperature to near scalding and basked in the amazing water pressure for long, long minutes. As the dirt and blood washed away and the knowledge of the outside world faded into an unbelievable reality, Arthur could almost grasp a moment of peace. Almost.

When his skin had pruned and his leg ached too much to stand, Arthur made an attempt to clean his boxers before leaving the shower. He brushed his teeth using a dollop of toothpaste on his finger and was rinsing with mouthwash when someone knocked at the door.

Arthur spat into the sink and opened the door. Li stood on the other side with clothes in hand.

"Yao said you needed something to wear."

"Right, er, thanks." Arthur held back a grimace as he took the plain brown trousers, white shirt and ugly sleeveless jumper. "Do these belong to your uncle?"

"My dad," Li said.

"Oh."

Arthur gaze dropped to the clothes in his hands as an uncomfortable silence hung between them.

"Do you need anything else?" Li asked, his tone and face almost robotically devoid of emotion.

"Actually I don't suppose you have a phone charger, do you?"

"Yeah but you won't be able to call anyone – all the signals are down."

"I know but I'd still appreciate it."

Li shrugged. "You can borrow mine but charging it won't work."

"I know."

"Whatever. Yao said to go downstairs when you're ready and he'll redress the wound."

Li left the room before Arthur could thank him once more. Instead he sat down on the toilet seat lid and unravelled the soggy bandages on this thigh with ease. Cleaned of blood and the torn skin neatly stitched, the cut did not look as dire as it had the day before. In fact Arthur was almost embarrassed that the injury had given him such pain; that was until he shifted his leg and recalled in vivid detail how much it fucking hurt.

Arthur dressed, making a face as he put on his damp boxers warmed from the heated towel rail, and then making a face as he looked at himself in an argyle sleeveless jumper. It was like looking twenty years into the future when he'd given up writing and had become the secondary school teacher Alistair and Cillian always said he'd become. At least he could be grateful that with the dead returning to life his dreaded future was unlikely to come to pass. Although so was his future as a world famous novelist with Tom Hiddleston playing himself in an award winning biopic.

Arthur went downstairs to where Yao bustled him the dining room, fed him pills and bandaged up his leg once more. Almost immediately after, a meal was set in front of him of rice, steamed fish and vegetables. He ate alone at the table for eight and missed the company of strangers.

When his plate was licked clean and the jug of water drained, Arthur carried his plate and cutlery in search of the kitchen.

"Ah, let me do that," Yao said, his voice loud and sudden after the silence. He set about filling up the dishwasher and waved a hand at Arthur to stop further help. "Go sleep," he said. "Take the guest room, two doors down from bathroom. You need rest before you leave."

Arthur glanced out the kitchen window to the world of the dead with a heavy pit in his stomach. Then he thanked the doctor and left.

The guest room was small in comparison to the rest of the house yet still large enough to fit a double bed, chest of drawers and bedside table. It also lacked the trinkets that laced the rest of the house, which Arthur preferred over Hello Kitty and her toady friends watching him sleep. His gaze fell to his charging phone.

Arthur exhaled and smiled, a real smile even as he blinked back tears. He sat on the bed and unlocked his phone. Li was right in that there was no signal but he didn't care as he went straight to the videos and Peter came to life on screen.

"Hey jerk face, guess who figured out your dumb password?" Peter said and stuck his tongue out. "I told you I could do it and it wasn't even hard – I guessed it on my second go. Cillian and Siobhan owe me ten quid each and I'm gonna buy that water gun you said I couldn't have and then I'm gonna get you in your sleep. And I'm gonna hide it somewhere secret and you'll never find it ever."

Arthur smirked. They all knew Peter's hidey hole was the space between the broken board in his wardrobe and the floor. He liked to think he was so sneaky but didn't notice when the space had been hoovered or the broken board sanded smooth to stop splinters.

"What are you playing with?" came Dylan's voice.

The grin fell from Peter's face and the picture blurred as he manoeuvred the phone. "What? Nothing!"

"Is that Arthur's phone?"

"No."

"Peter."

"I was only borrowing it."

"You know you shouldn't borrow it without Arthur's permission."

"But I was, er, leaving him a surprise message. Because of his book."

"Oh," Dylan said. "That's very nice of you. I'm sure he'll be very happy to hear it."

The camera was angled on only half of Peter's face but it caught the guilty look.

"Hand it over and I'll say something too."

The picture blurred again before focusing on Dylan's face. "Congratulations on the book, Arthur. I'm looking forward to reading it when it's in the shops."

There was a movement at the door. Li stood in the frame.

"Thought I heard voices," he mumbled.

"Oh, sorry. I can turn it down if you want."

Li shook his head. "It's fine, better than the quiet anyway." He hung in the doorway as Alistair's voice joined Dylan. "What you watching?"

"A video my family left me."

"Is that why you wanted the charger?"

"Yeah."

Peter's whining for the phone back was interrupted by the twins making their début. Arthur's stomach lurched when Cillian spoke and then all he could hear was pained screams begging for help.

But then Li spoke again and broke through the memory. "Sounds like you've got a big family."

Arthur tilted his phone to Li. "That's Alistair," he said when his brother appeared on screen. "He's the eldest so he likes to think he can boss us around." He was also the one to take charge, to hold the Kirkland's together as he tried to find a way out of the city. It was Alistair who'd found the guns and Alistair who'd carried Peter on his shoulders when the stampeding crowd had threatened to crush the boy.

Arthur cleared his throat as his sister floated into frame. "And that's Siobhan. She's the second eldest and Cillian's twin. She's also the only girl and the real boss of us." Siobhan had packed them each a backpack of food, water, clothes and other supplies which Arthur had been forced to leave behind when the dead were grabbing hold of it. She'd also found them a route out of the city, one that would have worked if they'd been a few hours earlier.

"Cillian is the loudest and likes doing stupid things to piss Siobhan off. They fight a lot and get on each other nerves but then again they both went to the same university in Ireland and ended up living together for seven years so they obviously don't hate each other as much as they claim."

Arthur avoided thoughts of his brother and quickly moved on. "Dylan's the calm one who tends to stay out of things. He's kind of quiet too and we once forgot him in Wales while on holiday. He ended up playing with sheep all afternoon and when we came back for him he was sad to leave them behind and declared he wanted to be a shepherd when he was older." Dylan had been the one comforting them the night before they'd left. He'd turned the repeating news off and made them play Monopoly, which started off lacklustre and ended in the usual manner of tears and bruises and one of them gloating, a fitting final night for the Kirkland clan.

"Peter is the youngest and hates when we tell him what to do. He can be a devious little sod who wants to rule the universe when he's older but really he's just a child who likes Spongebob Squarepants cartoons and singing along to Disney films." Peter had been the last one he'd seen before the crowd had swept him up. He remembered Peter reaching out his little hands and crying at Arthur to grab hold but in seconds they'd lost one another. He prayed beyond anything else that Peter had managed to hold onto one of their siblings, that he was being looked after and not lost in the city fending for himself. The thought of it made Arthur's throat tight.

By the time Arthur had finished introducing Li to all five of his siblings the kid had moved from his position in the doorway to perching on the side of the bed. Arthur was a little surprised by Li's interest but he supposed human companionship in a deserted suburb at the end of the world was hard to come by.

The video ended with an irritated Peter snatching the phone back and telling Arthur that his siblings were stupid and he was going to spray them all with his water gun.

Without the video it was suddenly oppressively silent.

"What happened to them?" Li asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Cillian..." Arthur inhaled. "Cillian didn't make it. I don't know what happened to the others."

"Just because they're not here it doesn't mean they... didn't make it. You're here, you're alive, so, like, why shouldn't they be too? They're out there, somewhere, and soon you're going to find them and put your family back together." Li said quickly, his hands clenched in the duvet.

Arthur looked down at his clothes, those of Li's father. "You were looking for your parents, weren't you?"

Li nodded. "They got stuck in the city when everything happened and... I don't know, they must be trapped or something."

"Maybe," Arthur mumbled.

"They're not dead," Li said, louder, his tone tinged with anger. "Not everyone's dead."

"No, they're not."

"You made it back from the city."

"I did."

"So other people could too."

"They could."

Li frowned at the duvet. "My parents could. They're smart, like really smart. They're professors and the best in their fields and they're not going to get killed by some dumb mindless zombies."

Arthur didn't reply. Even the most intelligent people reacted poorly when encountering the hungry dead and intelligence meant little when cornered or fleeing a horde. He'd seen it first hand.

"Are you going back to the city tomorrow? To look for your family?" Li asked.

"No. We agreed beforehand that if anything happened we wouldn't go looking for each other, with the exception of Peter."

Li's eyes widened minutely. "But-"

"The city is vast and overrun by the dead. _Even_ if I knew where they were it would be a miracle if I made it to them alive. It's pointless to even contemplate."

"Not if you know where they are."

"Your parents could be anywhere by now and I doubt they would want you risking your life looking for them."

Li turned away.

"You'll kill yourself before you ever found them, Li. You need to stop."

"Says you," Li said. He didn't give Arthur a chance to reply before he left the room.

Arthur stared at the closed door for a moment before his gaze fell to his phone. He set it aside on the bedside table. Watching his siblings was no longer so appealing.

He lay down on the bed, wiggling around until he found a position that didn't aggravate his leg and pulled the blankets around himself. Safe from the outside world and warm in his cocoon, Arthur let himself drift off.

#

When he woke the sun was a soft glow on the horizon. He'd slept surprisingly well, uninterrupted without nightmares or the sounds of screams and groans jolting him awake. Arthur took a few minutes to relax and let the drowsiness fade away before he pushed himself up. A dull pain stung his leg when he moved his aching body and then again when he stood up but it was nothing like the day before. He took a moment to check the time on his phone – six-fifteen – before he made his way to the bathroom.

Arthur wiggled his toes on the heated floor before using the toilet. He took another shower, not knowing when he'd next get the chance, and brushed his teeth with his finger and toothpaste once more.

Today he dared wiping the fogged mirror and meet his reflection. And he looked... he looked fine. Maybe a little pale but no worse than he did after binge drinking or pulling an all-nighter in uni.

Arthur blinked at his reflection. He should be worse, should be a mess after everything that happened, after losing Cillian. He shouldn't be normal.

#

No one was awake when Arthur ventured downstairs, stomach rumbling as he went in search for food. He ate an apple and stared out the kitchen window into the large but neat back garden. Were the dead out there? Lurking past the high hedge or skulking in the streets? Or were they still loitering around the hospital?

He would need a car for the best chance to get out of the damn city alive. Supplies too so he'd need a safe shop to loot, assuming there were still any around left untouched. And weapons, or bullets at the very least. How many was he down to now, three? Four? At least he still had that one for himself.

Movement sounded in the hall. Arthur froze, the apple half way to his mouth. He hadn't heard Yao or Li come down the stairs but there it was again, the sound of footsteps and rustling.

Fuck, where was his gun?

He did a quick sweep of the kitchen and when the gun wasn't made obvious Arthur found a substitute. He wielded the knife, long and thin and sharp, and slipped from the kitchen. Socks muffled his footsteps on the hardwood floor. Arthur stepped closer and closer until he was at the corner. The sounds were louder now, definite movement in the hall but not a peek from the two upstairs.

Arthur tightened his grip on the knife and turned the corner.

Li was crouched by the front door, completely dressed and packing a bag. The gun lay on the floor beside him.

Li haltered and lifted his head. Their gazes locked together.

"That's my gun" Arthur said, finally.

"I was gonna give it back."

"Have you even used one before?"

"What's there to it?" Li asked. "You, like, point at a zombie and pull the trigger."

"It's not as easy as it looks on the telly."

"Maybe not to you."

"That gun has a handful of bullets left," Arthur said, ignoring Li's on point comment. "How far do you think you'd get?"

"As far as I needed."

Arthur laid the knife on a table and walked towards Li. "Does Yao know what you're doing?"

Li shrugged.

"Did you even give any thought to your uncle? How he'll feel when he realises you're gone? About what he'll go through when you don't come home because you're dead?"

"And what about my parents?" Li asked, the tightness in his voice betraying his nonchalant façade. "Like, what about what they're going through right now? They need someone to care about them. They matter."

"They're dead."

Li sprang forward. Before Arthur could react he was flung backwards. He hit the floor with a loud thud and lay there sprawled out. Dazed and winded he blinked at Li standing over him. His narrowed brown eyes burned into Arthur's.

"What's going on?"

Arthur turned his head to Yao running down the stairs, hair loose and still in pyjamas.

"Why are you fighting? Did he attack you?" Yao wrenched Li away from Arthur.

Li shook his head and looked away.

Yao pushed Li behind him and confronted Arthur. "What happened?"

"Your nephew has been sneaking into the city to find his parents," Arthur said. He winced at the stab of pain in his leg when he stood up. "We were arguing about it."

Yao gripped Li's shoulders. "Is that what you're doing out there? You want to get killed, idiot?"

Li yanked himself free. "I'd rather die looking for my parents than sit around here doing nothing."

"That because you're a child. Your mother and father would never want you doing something so stupid."

"So what?"

"So you're not going out there any more."

"You can't stop me."

"I will drug you if I have to, Xiao Chun. Now give me the keys to your motorbike."

Li stared at his bag on the floor and the gun beside it.

"The keys, Xiao Chun."

Li dipped his head forward, hair covering his eyes as he slowly placed the keys in Yao's palm.

"Good." Yao tucked them away in his pocket.

"Whatever," Li said. He cast a look in Arthur's direction – his face once more blank – and retreated up the stairs.

Arthur breathed easier as the atmosphere picked up. It was a little strange to be witness to family drama that wasn't his own.

"Children," Yao said as he picked up the gun. "They think they're gods until they find their way to my OR."

"Taking his keys won't stop him," Arthur said. "He's determined to find his parents and threats won't hold him back."

"That's my problem."

"Right, of course."

"Come," Yao said and bustled him into the dining room. "Let me make breakfast and then I'll look at that leg."

#

By late morning the blue sky was cloudless and the hot sun promised a beautiful day ahead. Arthur pressed his forehead to the warm glass and told himself the weather boded well for him. Except he'd always been more at home in cool rain.

"Don't forget this," Yao said, distracting him from his thoughts.

Arthur took back his gun and held it flat against his palm. He traced the ridged grip with his thumb and was surprised by how much comfort he found in the weapon.

"Do you know where you going?"

Arthur looked through the small windows around the door. "Somewhere outside the city where its safer."

"This neighbourhood is safe. Why not take a house here?"

"Because when they lose interest in the hospital they're going to come this way. It won't be safe here forever."

"The army will be here before then."

"I watched the police and the army fall apart back in the city. There is no one coming."

Yao waved his hand nonchalantly. "This is an epidemic, a terrible one, but it is not the end of the world like those idiots running around would believe. There have been epidemics for thousands of years but we have survived and we will survive this one. The best thing we can do is wait it out until help comes."

"For how long? How long can you hold up in here until the food runs out, or the power goes down, or the dead start banging on the door? What if this cure you're certain of takes weeks or months to make? What if there's no one left by then?"

"What if I take Xiao Chun and we die looking for somewhere safer? We don't know what's going to happen so don't tell me what's best for my nephew and I."

Arthur opened and closed his mouth. Yao was right. Who was he to talk about what they should do? He'd already lost his family and nearly died in the city so who was he to say his decisions were right? He could walk out the door and be eaten five minutes later for all he knew.

"Fair enough," Arthur said and dragged a hand through his rough hair. "Just think about making this place safer. Board the windows and doors and keep the lights off at night. And stock up now while this neighbourhood is empty and there's time."

"Yes, yes, I'll sort everything out."

Arthur wanted to issue more warnings but he got the feeling Yao wasn't really listening. He supposed he'd said all he could and now it was on Yao to keep himself and Li safe.

Thinking of Li, Arthur glanced up the stairs. He hadn't come down for breakfast or when Yao had called up to let him know Arthur was leaving. Arthur wished he'd had a chance to say goodbye to Li. He supposed he owed his life to the kid; if Li hadn't been searching for his parents the day before, Arthur wouldn't have found his bike and a way out of the city centre. And he certainly wouldn't have found a doctor to patch him up and provide food, water and medicine.

"Tell him I'm sorry about what I said," Arthur said. "And that I wish him the best of luck."

Yao promised to pass his words on.

Then came the moment. The moment when the conversation fizzled out and the door was unlocked and the garden path lay ahead of him.

"Thanks for the help, and everything else," Arthur said as he shrugged on the backpack Yao had packed for him. Inside were pills and bandages, a change of clothes, snack food and two bottles of water. Arthur had already thanked him profusely, though Yao had seemed a little bemused and perplexed by Arthur's reaction.

"You stopped my stupid nephew from killing himself so think us even."

Arthur nodded. He tucked the gun into the back of his trousers, pulled the backpack straps over both shoulders and stepped outside. The sun warmed his skin immediately.

Yao and Arthur exchanged final goodbyes and then Arthur was walking down the path, pushing open the gate and leaving the house, Yao and Li behind.

The thought that maybe he'd made a mistake and the quiet neighbourhood was safe crossed his mind. But the dead were out there and when they swarmed here white picket fences weren't going to stop them. No, he had to leave, had to find somewhere truly safe.

If there was such a place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** As usual it may have been a while since my last update...
> 
> Things were a bit slow for Arthur in this chapter but it's gonna will kick off for him in the next part.
> 
> Thanks to twoscarypandas and Aaeri for commenting on the last chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested you can find my tumblr at [Maniac-Elle](http://maniac-elle.tumblr.com/).


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